Onliest

by J Daniel Batt

  Syn pulled out a red stool that rolled about on small chrome wheels and sat down. Behind her, the door slid open, and Syn spun around. The ebony eye-bot had returned, but he wasn’t alone. Several other bots crowded the doorway—most she had spied on her first walk to the theater. They were the ones that were broken, slower than the others. A pair of vacuum bots moved inside, their frames off-balance and scraping against the ground as they moved.

  Behind them, a square-framed, sand-colored bot the size of a garbage can rolled on a single wheel; it attempted to enter but misjudged and hit the doorframe. It backed up, and the ebony eye-bot descended down, chirped out something in that high-speed gibberish song the bots used, and the larger one aligned itself to the frame and carefully wheeled inside.

  The others ranged from an octagonal ball scuttling forward on four trapezoid legs, clicking against the hard floor, to a tall, thin med-bot with a dozen wire-like floating armatures, to a rusted-out iron bot sporting a large head on five horse-like legs—Syn was sure the thing would topple over or fall to dust. Others, all different and each broken, crowded in. Syn counted over twenty and lost track soon after.

  She started to stand and then sat right back down with a big sigh. Spotting the black eye-bot zipping around, proud of his new-found mobility, she said, “Did you tell them I fixed you?”

  The eye-bot stopped in front of her, glanced back at his entourage, and nodded slowly.

  Syn shook her head. “And they all need to be fixed?”

  It nodded again, dropping its singular eye downward, avoiding her glare.

  She stood up and looked at the mass of them, her mouth twisting into a frown. They all gazed up at her, expecting her help. “Expected. That’s what you all called me.” She tapped the ebony eye-bot, and her frown gave way to a slight grin. “But what do I call you?”

  The bot cocked its head quizzically.

  Syn tapped its black shell again. “Well, Dot seems the easy name, but that doesn’t fit. You’re a bit too conniving to be a Dot.”

  It floated away and then spun in the air a few times before doing a few quick laps around the room, drawing the attention of not only Syn but the other bots.

  Syn laughed. “I could call you Zip. But…” Syn pursed her lips and rubbed the edge of her ear. “No…” Her eyes went wide, and she exclaimed, “I know it! Huck!”

  The bot stopped and looked at her.

  “What do you think? Huck?”

  A moment passed, and then the bot nodded its agreement.

  “Okay, Huck. Now I need some help from you.”

  Huck moved in close, eager to hear her next words.

  “I really need to get to my friend Blip, but…” She waved a hand at the assortment of broken bots, “You’ve brought me a bunch of work. So, I’ll make you a deal. These bots and no others. You shut that door, and don’t you dare tell any other one that I’m helping. I’ll get these all going—” She examined the various bots and sighed, “and I think it’s going to take some time.” She jabbed a finger at Huck. “So, promise me—just these and no others. Okay?”

  Huck nodded eagerly.

  “Fine.” She pointed at the others. “Now, for the rest of you. Keep your mouths shut. Don’t you dare tell anyone about what I’m doing. Promise me?”

  Syn jumped back in surprise as she was greeted with not just nods but several verbal agreements of “Yes” and “I promise” and “Can do” in a strange cacophony of simulated voices. She was so used to her bots not talking, she had forgotten that these could. All except for Huck, yet he displayed a curiosity and alertness to him that similar eye-bots on her Disc didn’t. He had the spark of life in him. Having played around with enough eye-bots, she knew that they didn’t even possess the machinery to verbalize. It was likely the ones on this side didn’t either. Intelligent but forever mute.

  “Okay, then,” Syn said, “We’ll do this one at a time. You have to be patient.” Syn pointed to the larger, trash-can sized bot on a single wheel. “Let’s start with you. Come here. What’s your name?”

  In a high-pitched, squeaking voice, the large gray bot said, “Ah used to be called Clemence. But they all call me Bear.” It rolled close to her on a massive, thick tire that was nearly a tread. This bot was designed to go anywhere, except maybe indoors.

  Syn stopped, trying to gauge the bot’s earnestness, and when she realized it was telling the truth, she worked to stifle a giggle. “Well, Bear. It’s very nice to meet you.” She sat down on the red rolling stool and pulled up next to Bear, running a hand across its side and now noticing a series of three even blue stripes that fell down from its top and ran parallel the length of its body before curving to its back. “And what seems to be the problem?”

  Bear’s voice grew low, “I can’t…I can’t…”

  Syn leaned in, lowering in voice to match, “Yes?”

  “I can’t see real well. Can’t see at all. Everything is just a bunch of big old blotches. It’s not good for someone like me to be unable to see.”

  From behind, one of the smaller bots piped up, “He runs us over! That’s why I’m broken. He can’t see where he’s going, the big—”

  Syn waved a hand. “Woah! You be nice now, or I’m putting you at the end of the line and may never get to fixing you.”

  The small bot gave a quick reply, “Sorry.” Syn stifled another laugh—she wasn’t sure which one had even said it, so she wasn’t sure how she was going to enforce her threat.

  Turning back to Bear, she patted him on the head, “Well, I can see why that’s a problem.” She spun back to the workbench and picked up a few tools. “Let’s get that fixed. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

  And it wasn’t. Bear’s problem was due to a loose adaptor frame that prevented him from focusing properly and then a bunch of gunk and dirt that had built up on the inside of the two lenses. Most of the bots she worked on that day weren’t incredibly challenging. There were a few that required her to search around the shop for various parts. This workshop was not as stocked as hers. Most of these repairs would’ve been simple over there, but here she was limited to discovering where the previous occupant had stored things, if he had acquired them at all. A few times she had to resort to using a different tool than what she would’ve preferred. And in a few cases, she made the bot better but couldn’t fix the problem entirely. There were just certain parts she was unable to locate. But one by one, each bot left in far better condition than it had arrived. She made sure to give each one a quick cleanup as well after finding a bucket of cleaning materials and rags under one of the benches.

  Halfway through the day, the door slid open and in floated the shining globe that was Arquella. Atop of the bot’s spherical form a small plate balanced with three apples and a cup of water.

  “How are you doing that?” Syn asked, amazed at the balancing act.

  Arquella floated over to her, and Syn took the plate off her head. “Since you did what you did, I’ve been able to do far more than that. It’s not hard at all, actually!”

  Syn held up an apple. “For me?”

  “The Barlgharel said you’d be hungry and thirsty by now.”

  “He knows I’m here?”

  “He must. He asked me to bring these to you.” Arquella rotated around, taking in the bots still waiting their turn. “What’s happening?”

  Syn eyed Huck who was floating nearby. He hadn’t ventured more than a few feet away the entire day and had been more than eager to help Syn find various tools or items—and Syn had to admit, he’d done a good job. She said, “Someone told the others that I can fix things. The line formed early this morning. Unlike you, this one is a bit more blabby than I’d like.”

  “You’re fixing all of them. Can you do that?” Arquella asked.

  Syn nodded. “I’m going to try.” Syn looked at the door. “I’m going to have to go after Blip soon, but I think I can get this done. I’m not sure who would help you all if I didn’t.”

  Arquella bobbed closer and said in a rev
erential tone, “You really are the Expected one.”

  “Oh, please don’t—” Syn started to say but was cut off.

  Several of the bots remaining echoed the phrase, “Expected. Expected.”

  Syn dropped the tool in her hand, stood up, and put her hands out, “Woah! Stop that you all.”

  Arquella responded, “But you are. You are the Expected. You were sent to not only lead us away from here but to heal us while we’re here.”

  “I’m…” But Syn couldn’t think of how to end that sentence. There was no harm in what they believed, and if looked at from their perspective, she was healing them. Each of the bots had been amazed at the repair work she had done. If they thought they were human, then what she was doing was akin more to a doctor (or in a simpler view, a miracle worker) than a repair-woman. She examined the ones still remaining. Nine more. There was no way she was finishing this before nighttime. She momentarily considered stopping and just leaving, but the memory of each repaired bot’s joy had caused her to hesitate. It was important to each of these. She was changing their lives; she was healing them. And the Barlgharel said that Blip was okay. So, instead of leaving, Syn sat back down and picked up a dropped tool.

  Syn smiled, “Thank you, Arquella. Can you tell the Barlgharel that I’m going to be here another night, but I want to leave early in the morning?”

  Arquella bobbed in agreement. “I can and will.” She floated outside.

  Syn sighed. “Sorry, Blip.” She picked up an apple, enjoying the crisp taste, and returned to working on the slender bot ahead of her with the broken leg. An easy fix.

  The day turned into evening, and the number of bots diminished. Huck never left her side, and Arquella twice returned with more food and water—the second time with Bear’s lumbering form close behind.

  The work was wonderful, Syn finally admitted. She had lost track of time working on these bots and so wasn’t surprised when, after patting the final bot on its head and sending it away, she let out a great yawn. Except for Huck’s zipping and Arquella and Bear’s silent presence, the workshop was now empty.

  Syn stood and went to the door. “Arquella, can I stay in your room again? Would you mind?”

  Arquella let out a brief squeal of joy and said, “That would be delightful,” as they exited the shop.

  23

  A Dream of Stars

  “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”

  —William Shakespeare

  Syn slept. Syn dreamt.

  She floated through space alone. No Olorun. No Disc. And no Blip. Just herself alone amongst the sea of stars. She stretched out her arms and swam, pushing against the dark waters between those pinpoint lights.

  “Syn.”

  A voice echoed from below her feet, but as she looked down, she discovered nothing there. Again the voice said her name. “Syn.” But this time, it was behind her. Turning toward the sound, she saw the great globe of Sol itself, its yellow light pulsing in rhythm.

  With a single step, she crossed the gap to the constant star. Around her rotated tiny marbles and balls. The Earth. Mars. Jupiter. The million pebbles of the asteroid belt. In a moment, she had become Sol. She was the center of the solar system.

  Clip-clop. Clip-clop. The planets were planets, and yet, in between, as if flickering from one reality to the next, they were stallions, racing in their lanes. Clip-clop, clip-clop. There was a great race, and they were competing. The earth, a motley-speckled stallion with a dark chestnut mane and midnight tail, flew toward its goal, its nostrils flaring, spittle dripping from its wavering upper lip. The beast was manic. Beside it limped a slow and tired umber horse, Mars. Its one eye was shut, wounded and scarred, a tiny bubble of puss still present in the corner. But the two, despite their differences, kept pace. The debilitation of Mars and the fervor of Earth were equalized in their revolution around her. Syn held out her arms wide, nervous to bring them to her sides, nervous that she’d break the course of the raging planets.

  The beasts shifted back to globes, and as they did, a flash of light shot out from Earth toward the outer planets. Then she was swimming again, chasing the light. Behind her, Sol stood steady, a giant looming over everything. Ahead, the light sped, and Syn was a tiny insect in pursuit.

  She wasn’t just chasing; she was being pulled by it. Tiny ropes, unseen, but she felt them as they wrapped around her arms, pulled her along as if she was the tail of some great comet, always following in the wake of something far larger—more powerful.

  In that moment, the star was Olorun. Its shining light resolved into the familiar speared-circle shape of the needle and Disc.

  But she was still pulled behind. Still forgotten.

  She held out her hand, opening it up, fingers spreading as wide as possible, hoping to grip onto something. She was then standing still, standing far from the now dim pinpoint of light that was Sol, her hands still outstretched. Before her, almost invisible in its minuscule size, was the Olorun. Syn stood like some giant waiting to receive the ship.

  The weight of time felt heavy on her limbs. She had been waiting for centuries. The worlds revolving around her were young, and Syn knew she was a star again, a star of a new solar system with unknown worlds in rotation. There was no race. There was only a playful chase as Syn stood overlooking her young children—the worlds were green and blue marbles, and there were so many of them. Her arms were not held up in fear. Instead one arm still reached out, calling to the Olorun. The other hovered, palm down, in protection of the child worlds at play.

  Syn sighed as a sense of calm satisfaction, a wash of completeness moved through her, and everything slowed to a full pause. The universe stopped. The worlds in chase stopped. Only Olorun moved, refusing to acknowledge her beckon.

  Olorun was streaking toward her, like a stallion itself. Where the sleek metal of the ship was, now there was simply the streamlined coat of a charging, ember-colored horse, its teeth bared and its eyes narrow in fury. With each step, it gained speed, until it was a bullet shot at her.

  It flew past the circling planets and hit Syn, slamming into her heart, and blood erupted as she shrieked in pain.

  24

  Waking Up

  “We live, as we dream—alone.”

  —Joseph Conrad

  Syn woke with the scream still on her lips. Sweat poured down her face.

  She gasped, trying to choke back the now-escaping sobs. The tears came anyway. She didn’t understand why, but something from the dream still clung to her, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She gasped again.

  Nearby, in the corner of the room, Arquella floated, unmoved and undisturbed by Syn’s startled waking.

  “It was just a nightmare,” Syn said to herself.

  In the dark of the room, she felt more alone than ever. She wanted Blip to be there. She ached for him to be at her side. Blip had been calming her out of nightmares since Syn had known him. Nightmares interrupted her sleep most every night. She felt safe in the tree, and so she slept there. Yet, as the world went dark and silent around her, the memories of panic would float to the surface. She would erupt in a panic, heart racing, unsure as to where she was. Images of the white room and the crèche would flash in her memory, and she would project them onto the scene around her. Gasping, frightened, she would race into the cold night air. Then Blip would be next to her, counting down from twenty. Each number uttered a bit quieter than the last. She wasn’t sure why the countdown brought her peace, but it did. She had been having nightmares since she first woke in the crèche. Sleep constantly evaded her. Yet, Syn knew the routine after a nightmare. They would return to the treehouse. He would position himself next to her. His cold porcelain body somehow reassuring, and he could manage to exude a steady warmth. She would fall back asleep, her arm draped over him. Then Syn would sleep again through the rest of the night, uninterrupted. Sometimes he would drift away after he knew she was deep in sleep, always cautious to return by the time she woke. Over and over they
danced this same dance.

  No. Not this time.

  Syn laid back down and stared at Arquella’s floating form. I’m not alone, she thought. There were friends about. In the dark, strange, and twisted landscape of this second Disc, she had found a safe place. A thought came to her that both warmed her and created a pang of guilt: If I can’t find Blip, I still have these as friends. I won’t be alone even if I can’t find him.

  In the warmth of that reminder, Syn allowed herself to sleep once more.

  25

  Partings

  "The desert speaks the language of madness.

  Syllables dipped in chaos."

  —The Vision of Kanc, Archives of the Ecology

  Despite waking up as early as she could, hoping to slip out onto her journey unnoticed, the bots all waited for her outside. They were now past the edge of the Cradle. The outer courtyard of the lower Settlement, the one bordering the vast wasteland of the Desert of Nod, was jammed with the bots of the Ecology. The sky above was still the dark smoky haze, but Syn could now see the subtle hint of the sunstrips light above—a small difference between now and night, but enough. There, in the silence and darkness of the early morning, the bots were all assembled.

  She had descended the flights of stairs to look out at the base of the Disc, and there the Barlgharel greeted her. The two stood above the final staircase overlooking the mass of the Ecology.